It's easy to speak love in the dark... what about in broad daylight in the glare of the sun and the world

These pools of light seeped up from the ground and gathered around our footfalls. You never seemed to know where they came from. You would reach down your fingertips and dip the length of your arm into brilliant waters, ever amazed that they were never ending.

When you woke you had nothing to say. Nothing. Nothing without the stars. Do the moonbeams still follow you now? When you woke I was too tired to tell you the truth, and so you wandered off alone to find another to tell all of these things you hadn’t found in our silence.

"It’s easy to talk about love in the dark. Why don’t you try and speak of it during the day, when the sun is shining down on the world?" Red neon light coming in from the window illuminates her feet, little else. He is spooned behind her, arm draped over her side.

"I don’t know what I can say. It all feels done before during the day. As if the night were the only time we have that is new. Imagine all the things that have happened during the day: war, famine, death, recession, depression . . . The night is the only time we have where there is nothing to see, only what we feel, the bodies against us, the blanket over and bed under. We can speak in clichés at night without fear of being seen as no-one special, because we can’t be seen at all. All we have are the words themselves. The world they were made in is abstraction at night. It’s beyond the shadows. The world, at night, is nothing."